Chapter 7
Willow was drifting off to sleep when hurried footsteps approached the door.
A moment later, Charles rushed in, his face etched with worry. Seeing her already in bed, his concern only deepened.
"Babe, are you feeling okay?" He sat on the edge of the bed, voice gentle. "You sounded off on the phone earlier."
At the sound of his voice, Willow couldn't help remembering the scene of him with Rachel.
An entire afternoon together, out of her sight—what had they been doing? Rachel's smug tone when she'd bragged... they must have had quite the enjoyable time together.
Just those few seconds of speculation made her stomach turn.
Willow burrowed deeper under the covers, refusing to answer.
Charles noticed the flush on her face and placed his hand on her forehead.
"You're burning up." His brows furrowed with guilt. "Did you get caught in the rain? I'm so sorry—I should have picked you up this afternoon."
His touch made the nausea inside her peak. Willow swatted his hand away and scrambled out of bed, making a desperate dash for the bathroom. The sounds of her retching carried into the bedroom.
Deeply worried, Charles immediately called the Lancaster family doctor, who answered after quite a while.
After explaining the situation, the doctor spoke briefly with someone else before promising to come over as soon as possible.
By the time Charles hung up, Willow had emerged from the bathroom. He poured her some water and reached out to support her.
"Don't touch me," she said coldly, avoiding his hand.
Though rebuffed, Charles didn't get angry. He believed he deserved it for making her sick.
"I know I messed up, and it won't happen again," he said. "Please drink some water. I'll get your medicine. The doctor will be here soon."
As soon as he left to fetch her medicine, Willow got up, dumped the water he'd poured, and refilled the glass herself. She took a few sips before crawling back into bed.
When Charles returned, she took the medicine and quickly drifted off.
When she woke again, it was to the voices of Charles and the family doctor.
"These are supplements Mr. Sterling Lancaster sent when he heard Ms. Spencer was ill," the doctor was saying. He'd been with Sterling when Charles called.
"What's wrong with Uncle Sterling?" Charles asked.
"The same old problem—insomnia." The doctor approached Willow's bedside. "Ms. Spencer, how are you feeling now?"
Willow tried to answer, but the fever medicine made her eyelids too heavy to lift.
"It seems to be just a cold. Some good sweating should break the fever," the doctor concluded after a brief examination.
Only then did Charles relax, showing the doctor out. When he returned, he undressed and slipped under the covers, pulling Willow into his arms.
In her sleep, Willow instinctively struggled, trying to escape his embrace.
Watching her, Charles felt the doubts that had been plaguing him resurface. Willow was rejecting him—he could feel it.
She'd never been like this before. In the past, she would have snuggled into his arms, seeking comfort.
Could she have discovered the truth?
Charles's heart sank, and his arms unconsciously tightened around her. When Willow whimpered uncomfortably, he snapped back to reality and loosened his hold.
No, that was impossible. She'd been sound asleep that night. Besides, knowing her temperament, if she'd truly discovered something, she wouldn't have kept it bottled up inside.
Charles spent the night reassuring himself, but by dawn, uneasiness still gnawed at him.
He glanced at Willow, still fast asleep, and carefully got out of bed.
Shortly after, the sound of a car engine drifted up from below as he drove away from the villa.
When Willow finally woke, daylight filled the room, and she was alone.
Recalling the sounds she'd heard in her half-sleep, she twisted her lips in bitter amusement. The fever had come on quickly and left just as fast—she felt almost normal now.
After washing up, she went downstairs for breakfast. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard the housekeeper's exasperated voice from the kitchen.
"Mr. Lancaster, maybe I should take over? Mrs. Lancaster will be up any minute."
Willow peered curiously toward the kitchen. Charles stood there in a white dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves, his expensive clothes dusted with flour.
"Willow's been upset with me lately. Let me handle this," he insisted.
"You really do adore Mrs. Lancaster," Rena remarked.
Charles sealed a ravioli and dropped it into the pot. "Well, not enough to make her happy."
Mid-conversation, he turned and spotted Willow. His expression of frustration instantly transformed into concern. "Babe, how are you feeling? Any better? That ravioli place you love closed down, but I tracked down the owner and got their filling recipe. Try some when it's ready."
His eyes were full of genuine care and love as he spoke.
Willow studied him for a long moment, her emotions in turmoil. She could tell that Charles's love for her contained not a trace of pretense.
He did love her. But if he loved her so much, why was he sneaking around with another woman?
"How does it taste? Is it the way you like it?" Charles asked hopefully as she ate.
Willow looked into his eyes, still unable to make sense of it all. Could a person's body and heart truly be separated?
Just as she was about to ask, Charles spoke first. "Babe, can you tell me what I did wrong? You've been upset with me for a while now, haven't you?"
He couldn't stand it anymore, feeling that if he didn't clear things up, he might lose her forever.
Charles had already prepared himself—if Willow had discovered something, he would accept whatever punishment she deemed fit, as long as she could forgive him.
Willow's gaze grew calm. Even now, Charles was still testing the waters.
"It's nothing. I've just been tired from job hunting," she said, lowering her eyes to hide her true feelings.
Charles shifted uncomfortably. "If it's too difficult to find something, that's okay. You could be a full-time housewife, and I'll give you a monthly allowance. Wouldn't that be similar to having a job?"
Willow glanced up at him. "It's very different."
"Alright," he conceded, "take your time with the search. But please don't give me the cold shoulder anymore. I was worried I'd done something terrible."
Willow looked directly into his eyes, her expression neutral. "Actually, on our wedding night, I had a dream."
Charles's face visibly changed. "What did you dream about?"
Willow noticed his tension and gave a slight smile. "I dreamed a rat was scurrying across our bed. Felt like a bad omen."
